Posts tagged joy zipper

And might I mean that quite literally. Not ‘probably functional’, it’s still all very much up in the air, but it’s plausible I might be back in something resembling the land of the living.

I think the work which had to be done pretty much immediately has had the effect of jump-starting a spluttering brain. The Josh T. Pearson Toad Session is finished and ready to publish next weekend (assuming he’s happy with it), and Ian and I have been plotting this year’s Song, by Toad Records er, strategy, if you can call it that (just listen to tomorrow’s podcast if you’re interested).

We’re also working on this year’s Song, by Toad Records free sampler, which is going to be excellent. A little different from last year’s of course, but then I suppose that’s the point.

Anyhow, welcome to the first Friday Five of 2012. Why not delurk, just for shits and giggles, and say hello. I promise the questions won’t be challenging.

1. A New Year’s resolution you might keep.
2. One you’ll make but will probably break.
3. One you wouldn’t be naive enough to even make in the first place.
4. One someone else should make.
5. One other people might make for you but they can fuck off.

Me and the missus are rambling away together on this one. It’s largely new music, bookended by a couple of more well-known things. We Invent a new term – a weird combination of food and sex called culiniungus. We offend the Irish and the Scots. In fact, we are as offensively and predictably us as you could imagine.

We were out and totally smashed at the Broken Records gig at the Bowery yesterday, followed by some hot Sneaky Pete’s action. There are some disastrously embarrassing pictures here, if you want to point and laugh. The gig was amazing. I knew a group like Broken Records would be amazing in a small space like that, and so it proved.

I had to do some very pointed Standing Up though, which was fucking annoying. What the fuck is it with people, sitting down at fucking gigs? If the room’s empty that’s one thing, but the room was full, people were on tiptoes up the back, and this shower of cunts insisted on sitting on their fucking arses down the front, protecting a meter and a half of empty floor space between them and the band. So, as Mr. Discreetandtactful, I went and stood in front of them. Fuckwits. The band did get everyone on their feet after a song or two, which was a fucking relief, but honestly… it’s rock ‘n’ roll bitches, get up off your fucking hippy folk arseholes and stop acting like the Chipping Sodbury Chapter of the National Union of Knitting Champions. It’s not, to paraphrase a friend of mine, the fucking Teddy Bears’ Picnic.

This delightful little anecdote does have a darker side, however. Some lass tugged on my sleeve to ask me to sit down during the first song, and I attempted to politely but firmly say no thank you. Unfortunately I may have succeeded more at the latter than the former, and ended up just being rude to the woman. Who was very pregnant. Well done me. Picking fights with pregnant women isn’t really all that clever, is it. So, er, sorry pregnant lady, I didn’t mean to be quite so terse, nor did I mean to imply that you should just stop moaning about your baby and stand up. But then, you can’t really expect to sit two metres back from the stage and object to anyone standing in front of you either, because that’s just silly.

Oh, and we met Peej, a reader from New York, who was in town for the week and said hello. He was a really nice chap, so why he reads this fucking site is a mystery, to be honest, but it was brilliant of him to say hello, and then to put up with our drunken stumbling later on as well. Sometimes I love teh internetz. Not times like this of course, but sometimes.